Chapter 5
CHAPTER FIVE
Well, I’ll be damned, the lad is takin’ to her already.
Archer hadn’t turned to look at the interaction between Emilie and Louis. But he had been unable to tune it out completely.
After Aurora had rushed away in a tizzy, he had been curious about how the rest of the interaction would go with his son. He’d expected much of the same as had happened with Aurora, but obviously Archer had been wrong.
Of course, I was wrong. I hardly ken the bairns.
Archer grumbled to himself as the thought rushed to his mind, spearing another piece of roasted chicken with his knife. Glancing sidelong at Emilie’s plate, he noticed that it was still empty. She’d been too busy speaking with the children to focus on her food.
“Eat,” Archer grunted, interrupting whatever his new wife had been saying to Louis.
Emilie, who had been turned slightly in her chair so that her back was facing Archer, swiveled, her blue eyes lighting with surprise as they landed on him.
“What?” she asked, confusion peppering her tone as she studied him.
“Eat,” Archer commanded again, dipping his head toward the empty plate that rested in front of her. “We’ll nae be here all night, and we’ll be retirin’ soon.”
Her face paled, her gaze swiveling out over the party. It was showing no signs of dying down, but that was no surprise. Archer was well aware that the people would be drinking well into the night.
But Archer did not have that intention. No, the optics of them leaving early would be important. It would legitimize Emilie in the minds of their clan, forcing them to believe that they were off to consummate what they had promised before God.
Even if Archer had no intent to do so.
“Retirin’?” Emilie asked, tension writ clear within the lines of her face.
Archer nodded. “So, eat.”
There was no room for argument in his tone, and though Emilie paused for a moment, she eventually turned and began to place food atop her plate.
He finished his plate quickly, focusing on his food. When he was done, he glanced back at Emilie.
It did not appear that she had eaten much. But for the few seconds that he watched her, she did not take another bite. All Emilie did was push her food around, clearing out space so that it looked like she was eating.
The woman had to be famished, as he knew there was no way she had eaten since early that morning.
That is nae me problem, Archer reminded himself, stifling down the curiosity that was still bubbling inside him.
“It’s time,” he grunted, pushing himself back from the table and bringing himself to standing.
Emilie’s eyes widened, staring up at him in shock as he regarded her.
“Let’s go.”
He did not leave any space in his tone for her to argue, and his new bride seemed to sense that. A jaw ticked in her cheek as she pushed herself back.
Of their own accord, Archer’s eyes flicked to his son. The black eyes that were so like his mother’s watched him with something that looked like hope mixed with apprehension.
Archer clenched his teeth. The sight of Louis watching him like that, with expectation and trepidation all mixed into one, made him want to scream.
He saw it now, the visions of his father before the man had passed away. Even with all the years between, Archer could still feel how it had hurt when his father’s fist had crashed into his face.
Archer could still feel the hands around his throat, his windpipe burning as he fought for breath. He could still feel the anger. The helplessness.
I willnae give meself the chance to ever do that to me son.
He looked away from Louis, not sparing the boy a word or even another glance as he turned and strode toward the exit. Just as he’d turned away, though, Archer was certain that he’d seen his son’s expression shift, showing that the young boy was disappointed, but not surprised.
It is for the best.
Archer reminded himself as he made his way toward the exit of the Great Hall with Emilie at his side.
A few members of his clan waved at him as he passed. But most of them were so caught up in drink and in dance that they paid him no mind.
Once they were beyond the confines of the Great Hall, the noise of the cèilidh became muted. The sound of their footsteps rose up to greet them, echoing off the stone as they made their way to their chambers.
With each step they took, Archer was certain that he could sense Emilie stiffening more and more.
How will I be able to live for the rest of me days with such a timid lass?
Archer quickly banished the thought. It didn’t matter what Emilie was like, whether she was timid or fierce. The only thing that mattered was that she was a good mother to the twins. That was all he needed and wanted from her.
When they reached the door of their chambers, Archer threw open the door. He waved his hand in front of him, allowing Emilie to walk through first.
She brushed past him, the smell of her floating up to tease him. His new bride smelled lovely, like a soft spring flower that was just starting to bloom. Bright and fresh.
It made Archer want to lean into her. And then, with the thought of her being close to him dancing in his mind, his desires began to expand.
I need to get control of meself, he thought, pushing down the need for her that was coursing through him.
“It’s a lovely room,” Emilie said, walking to the center of their bedchamber and scanning the space.
Archer didn’t know if he’d ever given the room itself much thought. Just inside the door, there was a round, ornate rug thrown upon the floor with two high-backed reading chairs set upon it, and a low, stout table sat between them.
The chairs faced a fireplace that would often crackle merrily when the weather turned cold.
The room resided in the northernmost turrets of the castle, and it had more windows than most other rooms in the house, with the exception of the library.
A bookshelf sat under one of the windows, and Archer knew that when the sun came up, they would be able to see the expansive cliffs that gave way to the sea at the back of the castle beyond them.
“It’s nice enough,” he grunted, not wanting to get into the frills of it all with Emilie.
He stalked past her, walking to one of the small alcoves along the innermost wall where his armoire was located. Tugging the door open, Archer began to undress.
He busied himself with untying the strings of his tunic. Once they were sufficiently loosened, he tugged it over his head.
Behind him, Emilie let out a startled gasp.
“What are ye doin’?” she cried, and when Archer turned, he found her still standing in the center of the massive room, her hand pressed to her throat in horror.
Archer’s brow knit together in confusion.
“I’m gettin’ ready for bed,” he said in a tone that implied his bride had gone daft.
“But ye’re undressin’,” she continued.
A flush had begun creeping up Emilie’s neck, tracking a line over her jaw and into her cheeks. Her eyes were wide, darting around the room in a panic.
“Well, I’ll nae be sleepin’ in me weddin’ clothes.”
Even at a distance, Archer could see that she was trembling. He turned toward her, but apparently, being faced completely by his now naked chest was too much for her. Emilie’s hands darted up to cover her eyes.
“Relax, love,” Archer said, unable to stop his slight amusement from leaking into his voice. “I’ll nae be bitin’ ye. Ye’re perfectly safe within these walls.”
Emilie, however, did not drop her hands. She began shaking her head, as if the thought of looking at him was physically paining her.
“Surely ye’ve seen someone shirtless before,” Archer mused. “And, we are married, after all. Certainly, ye expected this.”
“I dinnae ken what to expect,” Emilie retorted, finally dropping her hands. “I told ye I’ve been at the nunnery most of me life. Do ye think we just have shirtless men runnin’ about the abbey?”
Despite himself, Archer smirked.
“That’s nae what yer parents had to say.”
Confusion flickered across Emilie’s face, her brow knitting together as she cocked her head to the side.
“What do ye mean?”
Her face was more animated than he’d seen it since meeting her earlier that day. The veneer of timid trepidation that had been cast over her since she’d first set foot down the aisle seemed to fall away.
Her blue eyes were blazing, lit with a fire that called to something within him. Something that Archer was not sure if he should entertain.
“Yer parents told me that ye were a ruined woman,” he explained. “It’s why they stated ye were still unmarried. So, for ye to be a ruined woman, ye would have had to have seen a man without his shirt at least once.”
Emilie’s face contorted in horror.
“A ruined woman?” she screeched, her tone dripping in disbelief. “Ye believed I was a ruined woman? And ye still married me?”
Archer shrugged. “I told ye, I just need a maither for me bairns. I daenae care much about yer virtue.”
Emilie huffed, puffing up her chest.
“Well, me virtue is still plenty intact,” she chided.
“Daenae worry about that. I cannae believe ye thought they were tellin’ the truth.
I was only a lass of six years when me parents gave me to the nuns.
And I was with them for seventeen years.
When do ye think I would have done anythin’ with a man?
I was a novice nun. I would not shirk me vows to God. ”
She was glaring at him, clearly offended that he would have the audacity to believe her parents’ words.
Archer, however, was having a very different reaction to the revelation.
The lass is pure, entirely unsullied by anyone else.
The thought had him stiffening. He shifted on his legs, careful to hide his growing desire beneath the swaths of his kilt.
He’d wanted her badly enough when he thought that another man had already had her. But now, knowing that no one else had?
It was a type of temptation that threatened to drive him mad.
Get control of yerself. She may be me wife, but I ken I cannae give her what she would want. Nae what she’d truly desire. I cannae love her. And that means that I cannae bed her.
Archer shoved down his desire again, something he was starting to feel he was doing entirely too often since meeting his new wife.
“I daenae like that yer parents lied to me,” he growled. “I will need to find a way to punish them for that.”
He had expected Emilie, timid and pious as she seemed to be, to balk at the mention of punishing her parents. But she did not. She simply glanced at him, lips pressed thin before nodding with understanding.
“I can imagine that a laird doesnae take kindly to deception,” she mused, but she said the words as if they were almost entirely for herself.
Archer responded anyway.
“I daenae. Now, since they have lied to me, I want to make sure. Did they inform ye of yer job here? Did they tell ye what yer duties are to be as me wife?”
Emilie chewed on her bottom lip. Archer stared at the gesture, wondering what it might feel like to have that bottom lip between his own teeth.
He shook himself before his thoughts could wander too wildly, just as Emilie shook her own head.
“Nay,” she replied. “They dinnae tell me anythin’.”
“Well,” he said, his voice dropping a bit as he spoke. “Yer parents made me quite a few promises. And they are promises that I intend to see fulfilled.”
And with that, Archer stepped forward, bringing himself much closer to where Emilie was standing.